


hope is a thing with feathers

by sepiatoned



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Possible smut, Stozier, just some TINY stozier oneshots, theyre soulmates fuck you, whenever i get inspo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 11:08:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20741213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sepiatoned/pseuds/sepiatoned
Summary: richie and stan love eachother very much.or, whenever i want to write mini stozier one-shots.





	hope is a thing with feathers

** Prompt:  ** _ Stan reading in bed while Richie lays his head on Stan’s shoulder, sleeping. _

Admittedly, this was Stan’s favorite part of the night. When Richie would take out his contacts and drape his arms around Stan, playing absently with the fabric of one of his loose sleep shirts, until his movements would cease, and his soft snores would echo through their compact room.

Most of the time, Stan would be reading a book—either about birds, or the human condition, or on the rare occasion some post-apocalyptic novel with  _ far  _ too much heterosexuality in it for his liking. But when he felt his fiancé's soft breath against his chest, Stan’s attention drifted from the words on the paper to the man on his side.

Stanley Uris had loved Richie Tozier all his life, more than all the birds in the sky or the novels on the shelves. He remembered when he finally told Richie how he felt—when he’d dragged Richie to come watch the birds fly south, and they’d only gotten through five minutes before Richie started doing cartwheels down the hill (curse his ADHD), and Stan grabbed him by the wrist and breathed out a, “I like you”, and then kissed him, and Richie thought it was some sick joke-

Stan took a breath, blinking himself back to reality. In his lap laid, face-down, David Sibley’s  _ The Sibley Guide to Birds,  _ and strewn across his lap, the man he was to marry in forty-eight days. Richie’s mouth was parted slightly, his eyes squeezed tight, and that  _ damn  _ snore that drove Stan crazy enough to hit him with a pillow at 4am every night.

Stan leaned down and pressed a soft, slow kiss to Richie’s cheek, before gently moving him over to his side of the bed, on top of a pile of pillows and nestled under warm blankets. Stan placed his book on his nightstand, took a sip of water then shut off his light.

His arms hooked around Richie’s waist, his head found solace in Richie’s mess of curls, and soon enough the lovers were asleep, intertwined, comforted by the sounds of the night and  each other's heartbeats.

**Author's Note:**

> FOLLOW MY TWITTER OR ELECTRIC CHAIR! @billskata


End file.
